


If You Invite a Cat to Dinner

by Llewcie



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, M/M, Sharing a Bed, cats are assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 02:20:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10957647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llewcie/pseuds/Llewcie
Summary: Will never adopts stray cats-- they are far too much work with little return, in his experience.  But when his dogs tree a cat late one night, he feels responsible enough to take it home and feed it.That's his first mistake.





	If You Invite a Cat to Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FauxFidele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FauxFidele/gifts).



> To Emily, whose long list of grievances about her cat Banjo inspired this story.

"In ancient times, cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this." -Terry Pratchett

Will Graham woke on the porch of his home, a whiskey tumbler at the tips of his fingers as he sprawled in the wooden lounge chair. His head ached, having rested at an awkward angle, and he slowly stretched his legs and back. The porch was lit by a half moon, clear silver light layering a gentle glow over the white, and he could see Winston peering at him from his place on the doormat, and then settling his head back down with a sigh. Will filled his lungs with the cool night air, stretching his chest until his ribs ached, and then lifted himself awkwardly from the chair. The various dogs surrounding him began to stretch and shake and otherwise rouse themselves to go into the house, and Will opened the door, shuffling them through in a sleepy, wagging pack, where they circled and settled back down to sleep the rest of the night.

Before he could shut and lock the door, he realized that he was missing two dogs-- Buster and King, thick as thieves and a study in contrasts. King was a Great Dane, Buster mostly terrier, maybe a bit of Dachshund. With a sigh at the thought of what they could be up to, he stepped off the porch, whistling for his wayward dogs. By the tree line in the side yard, he made out King's white coat in the same moment a small sound reached his ears--a feline sound-- a plaintive, questioning purr. As he got closer, King wagged happily and barked into the tree, as Buster danced around the roots, his wide paws scrabbling at the wood as if he were determined to climb. 

They had treed a small animal. Will called them both off with a sharp whistle, and Buster gave ground reluctantly. They followed him back to the house, whining in protest. He locked them inside and walked back out the tree, yawning the entire time. At the base of the young oak, he peered upwards into the branches, just able to make out the soft shape of a pale moon of a cat, looking down at him. "Well. Hello there," he said quietly. The cat peered at him, and then looked away, turning on its branch to present its furry back. Will sighed. He wasn't all that good with cats-- stray cats took an immense amount of effort and patience, and although he felt responsible, he was also exhausted. It was early in the morning, and he had slept awkwardly, and all he wanted was his bed and a few hours of oblivion. 

"You know what, cat?" he began, rubbing his forehead where a tension headache was beginning to settle. The cat turned his head to gaze at him. "I'm going to bed. Follow, or don’t follow. But there's food in it for you, either way, if you want it." They stared at each other for a moment, and as Will shifted to turn around, a heavy thump on his shoulder staggered him, followed by a dozen tiny knives sinking into his skin. He shouted in pain, arms coming up to fend off a wild cat attack, but then the heavy warm weight shifted, and the cat was gazing up at him from the comfy cradle of Will's arms. "Mrrrow?"

"Fuck." Will rubbed the cat's ears, and was rewarded with a rumbly purr. "Food got you interested, huh?" The cat rubbed its face against Will's shirt. Will sighed. "You probably wouldn’t eat it if you knew it was dog food." He carried the cat back to the porch, and set it down, switching on the light to get a good look at it. 

Definitely male. He was a large cat, a beautiful red gold all over except for a soft splash of white under his chin. Bright green eyes peered out curiously from a small, pointed face, while huge ears swiveled to catch the sounds of dog claws clicking inside the house. He stared around him as if he had just been given a hotel room he disapproved of, and then lifted a back paw regally in the air and began licking his balls. Will rubbed his face, so tired he could barely stand, and opened the door carefully to slip inside in order to make up a bowl of cut-up chicken and rice. There was still some left over from the dog's dinner, enough for breakfast for them all if he skimped a little on everyone's bowl. The kitchen was filled with wagging tails as they all gathered round in emphatic support of 3AM supper time. Will filled a small bowl, shooing them back to their beds, and turned to take it out to the porch, only to find that the cat was on his counter, watching him intently. He nearly dropped the bowl.

"Cat, you can't be in here!" He glanced worriedly at his pack, who were all now extremely interested in the cat on the counter. Will set the bowl down, and the cat, with a flick of his tail, sauntered over and ate a delicate bite. He chewed for a moment, contemplating, and then, with an elegant swipe, knocked the bowl right off the counter.

It hit Buster in the head, only to be inhaled by the little dog before any of the rest of them could advance. As one, they all looked up at the cat, wagging and hopeful. 

"Well, that's one way to dispel the tension," Will admitted. "My food isn't good enough for you, huh?" A slow blink was his only answer. He scooped up the cat and headed to the door, opening it and depositing the cat back outside. "You can't sleep inside, alright?" The cat looked at him with something that looked an awful lot like reproach, but Will was too tired to feel guilty. He shut the door on a plaintive meow, turned and walked the several steps to his bed, and plummeted downward, straight into sleep.

And woke, with a faceful of fur, to the light of a well-risen sun. "Winston, no. Not on the bed," he complained, and then opened his eyes to see the wrongly-accused dog staring avidly at the bed from his position on the floor. Will's eyes roamed around the room. All seven of his dogs were awake and entirely fixated on the bed. His pillow began to purr. "How the fuck?" 

Sure enough, the red gold cat was tucked in the crook of his neck, purring loudly, eyes closed. "How the hell did you get…" Will tapered off, realizing that the window above his bed was open. How was it open? Did he open it? Surely not. But there it was. Definitely open. And the cat was definitely in his bed, yawning ferociously and licking its toes.

By the time Will got out of the shower, the cat had perched himself like a king upon the countertop, gazing imperiously over the dogs as they licked their bowls clean. Will had left a bit more food out for him, on a paper plate this time, but it was untouched. Will walked naked and mostly dry to the door, his towel around his head, to let out the dogs, and then turned to eyeball the cat on his counter. "You definitely cannot stay in here today." The cat mrrowwed at him. "I don’t care how fast you are, or how much of an asshole you are." He wrapped his towel like a turban and picked up the cat from the counter, holding him against his bare chest. The cat immediately started to purr, and Will allowed a moment of weakness, dipping his head to nose at the cat's ear. "Thank you for a good night's sleep, though. That's a fucking miracle."

With the cat in his arms, he called all the dogs back inside, and then deposited the cat on the front porch. The cat looked at him for a long moment, green eyes gold in the early sun, and then with a sniff, turned around and, tail held high, trotted across the lawn and back into the woods.

Well. That was that. Strange night. But Will did feel wonderfully well-rested. He realized he was standing naked on the porch after a moment, and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean morning air, before heading inside to dress.

***

"And then he tipped the food I offered him onto Buster's head! This is why I don’t rescue cats. They're all ungrateful bastards." Will scowled, still injured by the affront, and took a generous sip of the wine Dr. Lecter had offered him. He swirled it like cognac, not missing the crease of disapproval between Hannibal's brows. 

"You say that the cat… broke into your house?" Hannibal switched from disapproving to skeptical so smoothly that Will would have missed it had he not become an expert on Hannibal's face. Facial expressions. "You are sure you locked the door?"

Will rubbed his cheek. "Yes, and I know that window wasn't open. I never leave the windows open when I sleep."

"Could you have opened it, half awake, perhaps to see about a noise outside?" Hannibal raised his eyebrows, offering a perfect explanation. "After all, a cat would not have the strength…" He tapered off, having made his point.

"Or the thumbs. Yeah." The wine took another swirl around the glass. "Yeah, it had to be something like that." Another deep gulp, and the wine was almost gone. "Anyway, I'm sure you don’t care about my stray problem. He's likely gone home anyway. Good coat, well-muscled. Clearly he belongs to someone."

Hannibal pursed his lips, thoughtful. "I care about anything that matters to you, Will." His keen eyes zeroed in on the red gold hair clinging to Will's pant leg, and a soft smile, apropos of nothing, graced his lips. "We can talk about anything you like."

***

That night, after he had driven home, Will was relieved to see no cat in sight. He fed and then let his pack out into the yard, and prepared for a quiet night with a tumbler of whiskey and a stack of papers to grade. Tomorrow was a Saturday, and barring any horrific murders, he was planning on enjoying his weekend alone, maybe go fishing, maybe watch Youtube channels about fishing. The possibilities were vast. Thus encouraged, he plowed on through the rest of the stack as his dogs roamed in and out of the open door, placidly enjoying the warm spring night.

"Mrrrrrowr?"

"Jesus!" Will's tumbler went flying from his hand and thunked on the braided rug, spattering a fine veneer of whiskey over his stack of graded papers. "Fuck!" He eyed the red-gold cat sitting primly to the side of his chair, daintily licking a droplet of whiskey from his paw. Will stood and took the papers to the sink, wiping them off with a dishtowel, but he only succeeded in smearing the writing on the topmost page. "Thanks. Now my class is going to think I'm a drunk as well as a misanthropist." The cat's bright green eyes settled on him archly, as if to say, if the shoe fits? Looking around the room, Will realized the dogs were avoiding the cat's attention, and further realized that they hadn't barked. Not one of them. "What the fuck do I feed you all for?" Buster wagged at him, and dug himself under a blanket. "Cowards, the whole lot of you." A few uncertain wags met his condemnation, and he rubbed at his eyes tiredly.

The cat hopped lightly on the bed, turned three times, and tucked itself into a little gold doughnut. "Oh fuck no, you little hairball." Will advanced on the cat, only to be met with a single green eye and a rumbling purr. Hopelessly, he threw himself onto the bed, hoping to dislodge the cat through reciprocal force. The springs groaned and snapped but did not satisfyingly eject the cat. Rather, it stood on broad paws and climbed over his arm, settling on his breastbone, and proceeded to make biscuits on his chest, the needle sharp claws piercing through his flannel and undershirt both to make tiny lacerations in his skin. He twitched in pain but for some reason, endured it, until it became a red buzzing across his chest. At some point, his hand became buried in the thick fur of the beast on his chest. At some further point, he slept.

***

It became a habit, through sheer weight of stubbornness on the part of the cat and general exhaustion on the part of Will, who came home too tired to fight a determined ball of fluff that would not be trained. The cat became a part of the household-- not every night, but many, and Will grudgingly admitted that he slept better with the little bastard there. Hannibal-- Dr. Lecter-- took to asking him about the cat whenever they met for their conversations. Will always had a story.

"He took every single dog toy, piled them in the corner, and wouldn't let the dogs go near them for the whole evening. I had to lock that fucker out of the house to redistribute them!"

Or…

"That _asshole cat_ attacked King, my Dane, at 3 AM, and I had a bedfull of shivering HORSE DOG for the rest of the night!"

Or…

"Hannibal, he fucking sprayed on my bottle of Old Spice. I can't even use it now because I reek of CAT PISS." To which Hannibal might have mumbled something about not being able to tell the difference. 

And the worst. "He fucking teabagged me Hannibal! I swear to God, I was sleeping and I woke up to a pair of cat balls on my forehead. Can you fucking believe it? He just sat there cleaning his toes!"

Once, Hannibal asked him what kind of a cat it was. Will had no idea, and said so. "Tabby? Something orange?" To which Hannibal looked extremely, bizarrely affronted, and made Will describe the cat exactly. When he informed Will that the cat sounded like an Abyssinian, an 'ancient and noble' breed, Will shrugged and took a good swallow of whiskey. "He's still an asshole, Hannibal."

***

And it might have continued on indefinitely, except that it didn't. 

***

On a late spring Saturday morning, Will slept long past the sun's path across his bed. He woke slowly, luxuriously, and snuggled into the warm body beside him, feeling comfortable and safe. A rumbling purr drew a soft sound of contentment from him. It took a few moments of sleepy pondering at his good fortune before he shot straight up in the bed.

Beside him, entirely naked, Hannibal lay, his hair sleep-mussed and his amber eyes growing wide and horrified in an instant. The air around his body shuddered, crackling with electricity, and then the cat that had moments before been Dr. Hannibal Lecter squeaked out of Will's panicked grasp to leap and smack headfirst into the closed window. "MRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOWWWWWW!" Will sat stunned, heart pounding for a long breathless moment, until anger overtook his surprise.

"Fucking SHIT! HANNIBAL!" The cat leapt awkwardly away, barely avoiding being scooped up, and ran to the door, hissing to get out. They stared at each other, Will's heart still stuttering. "I cannot. Fucking. Believe you." The cat stared defiantly at him, and Will had the sudden desperate thought that he couldn't believe it had taken him so long to twig. He threw off the covers and stalked from the bed into the bathroom. When another howl came from the direction of the door, Will shouted back, "You can let yourself out, asshole!"

His morning was entirely surreal. He could have sworn, as he was angrily brushing his teeth, that he heard a motorcycle fire up not too far in the distance. While not entirely uncommon out here, the timing was just too perfect. Just long enough for a cat to sprint from his house into the treeline. And get dressed.

Fucking Hannibal.

***

Will pondered as he sat in his car in front of Hannibal's office. On the one hand, he would have been happy to never ever speak to Hannibal again. On the other, he was desperately curious, and despite everything, he couldn't shake the blissful contentment he had enjoyed for the last month, sleeping so well and waking so refreshed. It wasn't so easy to turn away from that. His heart hurt a little at the thought of never seeing Hannibal again. Okay, a lot, but the irritation simmering over top of everything made it hard to parse his feelings. With a tremendous sigh, he opened the door and got out of his car.

Hannibal was surprised to see him. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, and his tie and jacket were missing. He looked as if he had been drinking. But he motioned Will into his office with a faint greeting, wandering in behind Will and following him meekly to their chairs. Both sat and gazed at each other, neither certain how to broach the topic.

"So," Will finally began. "Abyssinian, huh? Of course, Count Hannibal Lecter wouldn’t be anything as common as a tabby cat."

Hannibal cleared his throat, more at a loss than Will had ever seen him. "You seem more focused on my breed than what seems to me to be the crux of the matter."

Will snorted a laugh. "I'm not exactly sure what to focus on, here, Hannibal. This is a little… out of my wheelhouse." he shifted, wishing he had a drink but not sure that would help. "So. How does it work, exactly?"

Hannibal mirrored him, clearly uncomfortable. "Are you familiar with the legend of the Grimalkin?"

"Children's stories. The king of cats. My dad used to tell me all sorts of stories."

"Hmm. The story carries a grain of truth. The Grimalkin was descended from Freya's cats, as am I.”

"Freya… chariot pulled by cats Freya? Nordic god Freya?" Will scrunched his brows together. "Ireland and Scandinavia are pretty far apart. And you are from Lithuania?"

Hannibal shrugged. "Cats travel far. There are many of us, though we do not always breed true."

"Breed true?" Will got up out of his chair, making a beeline for the liquor cabinet. "Have you tried to… breed?"

A chuckle behind him, and Will jumped. Well, at least now he had an explanation for how Hannibal was always so quiet. "No. I have not. We are just a people, like any other." He was standing right behind Will now, close enough that Will could feel the heat of his proximity. "Do you forgive me, Will, for imposing on you all these long nights?"

Will's shoulder's slumped. That seemed a lot to process. "I don’t know yet, Hannibal." A soft sigh behind him made him feel a twinge of guilt. "But can you show me? How you do it?" He turned his shoulder to face Hannibal, and caught the soft look of surprise and wonder that flickered over his face. 

"Of course. The least I can do." Will nodded. "But." Hannibal held up a hand, as if he were going to grasp Will's elbow. "Not here. Come to my home and allow me to make you a meal."

"You always refused my food," Will pointed out, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth. 

Hannibal sniffed once, and looked so much like the cat that a laugh bubbled out of Will's chest. Without answering, Hannibal walked out, taking his keys from the little table on the side of the door. Will followed, refusing to think too hard about it.

***

Hannibal did make him a meal-- a very simple dish of homemade pasta and roasted tomatoes, fresh parmesan and good garlicky bread. They ate mostly in silence, with the occasional question from Will and quiet answer from Hannibal. Was he also immortal? No, was the answer to that. Although he did admit his people tended to live a bit longer than those entirely human. Did anyone else know? To which he answered, not anymore. By the time supper was finished, Will was contemplating his life choices in a way he had never expected. He tugged Hannibal into the study, where the cold fireplace rested, and poured them both a drink. 

"Why did you do it?"

Hannibal frowned. "Selfish at first," he admitted. "I wanted to see what you were like around your dogs, when no one was there to judge you." He turned the tumbler in his hands. "And then… you were restless as you slept, and I thought, what would be the harm?" He took a small drink, sucking it between pursed lips. "To my surprise, you slept much better when I was there."

"I did," Will said quietly. "I've never slept so well."

Hannibal waved his glass. "By the time I realized I was… that I had become…" He took a deep breath. "I didn't want to stop. And how could I tell you? What would I have said?"

"So you showed me instead?"

Hannibal smirked. "It could perhaps have been a subconscious desire to come clean, as it were."

Their eyes met. Will set down his drink, and stood to take Hannibal's from him. "Show me again."

Hannibal stared at him for a long moment, as if to judge his sincerity. Then he stood, and began to unbutton his shirt. Will blushed pink in an instant. "Do you have to… undress?"

"Yes." 

Will didn't question again, but couldn't look away either, as Hannibal slowly tugged his shirt out of his pants and rolled it over his shoulders. He leaned over to tug off his shoes and his socks, and then straightened to undo the fly of his pants. Will was flaming hot, his cheeks certainly as red as apples, as he watched. Hannibal revealed long, lean legs, strong thighs, appealingly furry from chest to ankle. When he tugged off his boxer briefs, and stood naked in front of Will, Will wondered where all the oxygen in the room had gone. Hannibal simply watched him, and Will gestured awkwardly, horribly embarrassed and turned on. "Are you going to do the thing?" he squeaked. Hannibal grinned at him.

"I thought you would appreciate seeing me bared, since I have seen you many a time in what nature gave you."

"Gods, don't remind me, Hannibal."

"Nature has been very generous to you, Will." 

"Hannibal." Will covered his eyes, only to have careful fingers grab his wrist and uncover them. 

"You have to look, or you will miss it."

Hannibal was clearly delighting in Will's reaction. He turned slowly around, allowing Will to look his fill of him. Behind him, Will made a soft, desperate sound. "Hannibal…" he all but begged.

With a slow blink, Hannibal met his eyes again, and they were green. An electric crackle, same as that morning, shivered through the air like an impending storm. There was no grotesque shrinking of his body, no snapping of bone. One moment, Hannibal had cat ears, and the next, he was perched on the floor, gazing primly on Will, who was entirely undone. Will dropped to his knees in front of the cat who was also Hannibal. "That's amazing," he admitted softly, reaching hesitantly to scratch behind Hannibal's large ears. Hannibal purred at him, a sound that soothed Will with an immediacy that should have frightened him. 

It didn't, though. Will reached for the cat, and Hannibal allowed himself to be picked up, purring all the while. Will kissed his little forehead. "You're still an asshole," he murmured. Acknowledging a decision he knew he had made hours ago, he walked towards the stairs. "I'm taking you upstairs, and you are going to show me how you change back." 

“Mrrow?” 

“I think so.” He started up the stairs, smiling, his heart light. “After all, you’ve spent so much time in my bed. I hardly think it’s fair that I’ve spent none in yours.”


End file.
